Page 110 of Barefoot Dreams
Tentatively, my hand reaches for one with number one on it and when I flip the cover, I gasp again. This one is loud, untamed, because I cannot believe what I’m seeing.
Sweet- daisies-holy-rosemary…
So, I guess I’m supposed to say, Dear Diary?
I shut the journal as if it’s burned me. Diary!Diary?Griffin kept diaries? The revelation is almost too much for my already spent brain, but that’s exactly what these are.
I gulp. “Griffin! These are…you want me to read them?”
“Told you I’d right the scales one day.”
He did, didn’t he? When I found out he read my diaries, he promised to right the scales. I just could never imagine it’d be like this!
“I don’t have to read these.” I brush my finger against the worn material.
“I want you to.” Griffin sits down next to me on the other side of the box. “I want you to know every part of me, no matter how ugly, stupid, or fucked-up it is. Need you to see it all.” Griffin leans in, pressing his lips to my stomach again like he needs it. Like our baby brings him peace and comfort.
Forget hammering, my heart is beating so wildly, I'm scared a few of my ribs around it have cracked already. My hands shake as I lift number one and thread my trembling fingers into his hair. I don’t need to read these to love every side of him.
I saw them—felt them—all these years. But ifheneeds it…I flip it back open, starting where I left off.
So, I guess I’m supposed to say, Dear Diary?
It seems stupid as hell. Why would I call you dear? I don’t even understand why I need to write anything in here at all, but Mom went all crazy today and said if I won’t talk to her, I need to talk to someone else.
It was either this or another yoga session.
So, what am I supposed to talk to you about?
I’m Griffin. I’m twelve and I get into fights?
How is this supposed to help me?
How is something that doesn’t talk back supposed to help me figure out my feelings. Mom’s words, not mine, so don’t get all excited.
This is pointless.
I’d rather go hang out with Cal and Luke. Maybe even see Julie too. She’s different but so cool.
I guess I can tell you a secret. Because, duh, who are you gonna snitch to? This is something I haven’t told anyone yet. Even Cal and Luke. ESPECIALLY Cal! But I think I like Julie, his younger sister.
She’s only like two years younger, so it’s all right. And she’s very pretty! I’ve always thought so. And smart! She’s thesmartest girl I know and she’s not like everyone else. She smiles all the time and it’s so cool. All the other girls cry, but never Birdy.
Well, crap, now I have to hide you and stuff so no one can find out.
G.O.
My mouth feels dry. My heart is hammering in my chest. He was twelve when he wrote this. Twelve.
And on the very first entry, he shared a secret with it.
A secret about me…me! On the same nights I sat at my desk, streets away, writing about him, he did the same.
The ten-year-old Julie on the inside is feeling giddy. He liked me! I cannot believe it, but he liked me. Griffin thought I was pretty and smart. Such a boy thing to say, to sum it up into two or three words, but it’s enough to stir the butterflies in my stomach.
I wave my fingers through his hair, running them through the thick, brown strands and he purrs from my touch.
“You liked me!” I squeal with excitement and Griff snorts.
